The Naivety of Reason
by Pabs
Summary: The Great Crusade is in full swing. James Faulkner is a pacifist Imperial Soldier on the planet of Myronia. When it is revealed that the Emperor is coming to join the battle on the world, a slew of events ensue that will change James' life.
1. Part 1

**The Naivety of Reason**

**Make the Killing Fields Pristine**

Part One

James was always the last to be informed of a party. He looked around in wonderment and confusion, watching the uniformed men as they buzzed around like mindless drones, tidying up the street, so worn by war. They stood atop ladders, hanging banners over the holes in blown out buildings. They lay on the ground, scrubbing away oil stains and filling in cracks. They ran to and fro with brooms, sweeping away everything; rubble, pebbles, fingers, all of it. Perhaps this world had finally driven them all insane. Or perhaps he had simply missed something. He hoped it was the former. If not, he knew what lay ahead: work.

It was not that James was against work. He knew it was necessary. If anyone asked, he would discard all accusations of his laziness and ramble on about the importance of labor in a community. To himself, in his own mind, however, he could create whatever streams of thought he wanted, and no one would know. So somewhere deep in his head he knew the truth hid. He did know work was necessary, he would just prefer not to do it.

An enormous cart passed, a cloth hiding the contents from the soldiers' eyes. The strange, misshapen forms beneath made such a shroud useless. Well, perhaps it was a shield for the ignorant, but any man who had fought on Myronia knew a corpse-carrier when they saw one. The man dragging the human-being trash can along glared at him. But for the painful look in his eyes, James would have thought the man to be smiling. Never had James seen a cart overflowing like that one. He could only imagine what would bring the commanders to take the time to rid the streets of so many 'Early Discharge Victims.'

Turning the corner, James emerged onto an alley way between two decaying buildings, torn to bits by artillery from the siege the week before. Sloppy streaks of red paint on the walls hid inscriptions of defiance from the underground revolution. James did so love the underground revolution. They didn't intend to be seen as entertainment, but only command took them seriously. Their rallies were well attended, in truth, if only for the sake of listening to sanitation officers go off on tirades about the powers-that-be's apparent lack of respect for Army restroom rules.

Returning back into the sun, the damned omnipotent sun, James found himself in front of a small tent. In fact, he found himself in front of dozens of small tents lining the grey street, but the one before him was the most important of all. He had always loved the tent. Everywhere he went, he seemed to be able to find himself in front of it again, and always at the right time. Pushing the flap door aside, he entered, only to face chaos unlike anything he had ever seen.

The center isle was clear, while the rows of beds on either side were bustling with activity. Sam sat at his cot, making and unmaking the sheets, never seeming to get it quite right. Jonas dusted the shelves along his side like a man possessed, his eyes transfixed on the tiny, gray particles as they rained down onto the floor. Roland scrubbed away at the floor rabidly, staring at it like one of his many mirrors, as if comparing it to himself.

"What the hell is going on here, and why wasn't I told?" James cried over the ruckus. The others looked up. Gerret appeared from behind the far bed.

"You didn't hear?" he asked.

"If I had, would I be asking?" James said.

"Ok," Gerret muttered. "The Emperor. He's coming to Myronia."

"This Myronia?" James asked, astonished.

"Yeah, that's right. Apparently he just realized we were here and thinks we need a moral boost," Gerret said.

"So when'll he get here?"

"A week or two."

James stood, stunned. All eyes were upon him, questioning.

"Are you all _crazy_?" he shouted.

"What?" Sam asked, his eyes wide.

"You're acting like he'll be strolling into our tent in an hour!" James said, almost laughing.

"Dammit Faulkner!" someone roared. James turned, standing upright and gritting his teeth. A figure limped into the tent, slightly hunched, but still imposing. His face was contorted with disgust and rage as if he was looking upon the most atrocious and horrific creature to roam the galaxy. It seemed as though his graying hair began to fall out as he walked, his eyes twitching strangely. Perhaps James would have seen this man as comical, were it not for the badge on his shoulder.

"Sergeant Kerger," James murmured.

"They're just acting like good soldiers, going above and beyond. I suppose you wouldn't understand that, though," Kerger said.

"I suppose not," James said. Were there an expression of hatred strong enough to describe the feeling the two felt, James was sure it would have appeared in that exchange.

"He's coming to visit, Faulkner," said Kerger. "And I pity him."

"Why, sir?" James asked.

"Because, Faulkner, he deserves better than being within a million miles of you," Kerger spat.

James flinched as the man approached him ominously, but refused to step back. A smell indescribable by any man met the soldier's nose as his sergeant came nose to nose with him, drool running down his cheeks slowly. Bringing a Iho-stick up to his lips, Kerger blew a cloud of smoke into James' face.

"I can't imagine the trauma it would cause Him. But don't worry, Faulkner, he won't ever have to experience the horror of standing on mutual soil with you," Kerger said quietly. "You'll be gone before he ever sets foot on this planet. And no one will remember your name."

James often wondered if the Sergeant knew how much he would appreciate it if he was actually discharged. The fact that Kerger was so astonishingly terrible at getting him discharged simply amused him. Nodding, he backed down and walked to his plain cot, leaving the sergeant in the same place, grinning and sucking in on the Iho-stick. When his lungs shriveled up and dropped out of his mouth, James knew who would be looking smug.

"I have our clean-up orders," said Kerger finally. The squad looked up in anticipation. "Street 24."

Each and every man in the room let out a unanimous groan.


	2. Part 2

**Make the Killing Fields Pristine**

Part Two

Street twenty-four was empty. Perhaps if it were any other street, James would have though it suspicious, eerie, or strange. But then again, it was street twenty-four. On the border between Imperial and Myronian territory, it was expectedly desolate. The terrifyingly agile fauna of Myronia had already taken advantage of this, however, claiming the road as their own. Buds of all shapes and sizes blossomed from the windows of abandoned buildings, vines and weeds twisting this way and that, painting the grey concrete and cracked pavement a lush green. James had wondered some times what it took to maintain an entire planet of ravenous plants. He had never worried about it, but only taken pleasure in the fact that the army had been forced to found the First Gardeners Division simply to keep the furious herbs in check throughout the base.

Sergeant Kerger raised his hand, coming to a slow stop. The squad stopped with him, standing perfectly still. Kerger made a strange noise, as if speaking in some harsh, unknown dialect, then turned to examine the squad. Grunting, he nodded and continued on. After a moment, he lowered his hand, apparently having forgotten he had put it up in the first place.

"Sergeant," said little Josef Pea, the man who's name James remembered simply because he found it so hard to remember. "Don't you think we ought to get started?"

The sergeant spun around, his face red with anger.

"Dammit Faulkner!" he bellowed.

"I didn't say anything, sir," James muttered, raising his eyebrows.

Kerger's nose twitched twice as he contemplated his next move.

"Right, I expect we should get started," he said calmly. "I hope you all brought your cleaning tools."

As one, the squad drew their over-sized machetes. Kerger did the same, running his finger down the blade slowly.

"You've seen a lot of action here, haven't you sweetness?" he purred quietly. Looking up, he bit his finger. "Why aren't you all working?" he blurted.

James bent down, beginning to hack away at a particularly meaty vine. It did not intend to go easily, its thick cellulose barely flinching under the repeated assaults of the machete. Of course, James did not intent to give up. He beat at the green monster with a passion. It was not every day that he was given a chance to rid himself of some of the anger that built up inside his, at least to his knowledge, hollow body. He could hear the vine down there, taunting him, laughing. He only swung down harder, leaving the vine mangled and frail.

Raising the blade above his head one last time, he let out a great cry. James Faulkner, the vine butcher, bane of all photosynthesis-users. With an explosive snap, the vine split in two, the two halves shooting to either side of the street. James laughed slightly, continuing his campaign of terror across the botanical landscape. Then, in an instant, he stopped. A hand was on his back. He turned, standing face to face with Gerret.

"James," he said sternly. "Calm down."

James nodded, panting. If there was one thing Gerret could do, it was to calm people down. James thought, perhaps, that this was because he was the most boring of all the squad members. He seemed sensible, rational, and overall just ordinary. It was that dullness that made him so likeable. He didn't smile at James, nor did he frown. He simply looked. His nose was crooked slightly, and one eyebrow over his hazel eyes was slightly larger than the other. This was all that differentiated him from the man on the front of a tube of shaving lotion, and from any man just happening to walk down the streets of any world, anywhere.

Let down, James began to chop at the vines with less emotion, his movement becoming robotic. He had not realized it while caught in a homicidal rage, but chopping vines was a tiring, trivial, and certainly tenacious job. He let out a yawn and wished internally that something would happen that could make the whole event more exciting.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw little Josef Pea, who had decided to cut vines next to him. James shrugged, continuing his work. In a moment, little Josef Pea was gone. Perhaps James had been hallucinating, and the little man hadn't been there at all. Only when he heard shouts of horror and the roar of auto-fire did he take the time to look for little Josef. He regretted ever deciding to do so, for when he did, he found at his feet a headless body, blood seeping from it like water from a funnel.

Cursing, James flung himself towards the nearest building, leaping over piles of mangled roots as he went. Before he knew it, he found himself face first in a sea of green. He had tripped. The vines were taking their revenge for the friends they had lost by James' hand. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a scene of panic. The squad scrambled about like gnats, circling around and around aimlessly as they searched for safety. Sergeant Kerger stood in place and, reminiscent of a hero from the classic war-picts, fired his weapon at random into the empty alleys and lanes of the city beyond, roaring a perpetual roar that shook James' ears.

After a while, it was decided that there was no threat, and the clamoring died down. James picked himself up, his eyes still darting from dark building to dark building, expecting to see an armed man leaning out of every plant-ridden window. The sergeant sighed, as if let down, and turned to little Josef Pea's body and knelt down. Like curious idiots, the rest of the squad began to circle around him.

"Is he still alive?" Sam asked. "Check to see if he's still alive."

"Shut it, Sam," Jonas spat. "Man's got no head!"

"Someone tell Faulkner to keep his mouth shut so we can all pay respects to the damned man!" Kerger ordered from his position on the ground.

James sighed, making his way towards the others and examining the scene. Nothing had changed since he had lest checked. Little Josef still lay there, his head nowhere to be seen, blood soaking the thirsty plants around him.

"What are we gunna do with him?" Jonas questioned, stunned.

"Get Myers to pick him up…" Kerger began.

"Myers isn't here," Jonas reported.

"Where the hell is Myers?"

"The medical wing."

"Oh," the sergeant said. "Ok. Roland, Sam, pick him up."

"I'm not touching…" Roland looked down in disgust, "_him_."

"I'll get him," James said with a groan.

"Dammit Faulkner, did I ask you to pick him up!" Kerger retorted harshly. "I don't want to desecrate his body! Sam and Jonas, do it."

"Sir," Jonas said, his voice shaking. "What if…what if it's a trap?"

"What are you talking about?" the sergeant said skeptically.

"They didn't hurt any of us!" Jonas cried, as if he had just revealed a damning piece of information.

"They hurt Josef," Sam said.

Jonas shook his head sadly.

"You all know what I mean," he said to the others, aside from Sam. "What if they _want _us to bring him back to base? What if…"

"I don't want to hear it," Kerger said. "You've already terrified me enough. Let's just go back. I'll report the kill when we return."

There was a short silence as he turned to James.

"Don't think you'll get away with this one, Faulkner…" he whispered angrily.

James was confused. That confusion kept him occupied on the entire trip back to base.


End file.
